


Briar Rose's Voice

by Eatgreass



Category: Sleeping Beauty (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Angst, Briar Rose never got her choices!, Gen, I have a lot of thoughts about Her, I realize i put on quite a few archive warnings, Mini Fic, but its not like super graphic, mostly touched upon, no happy ending, so i wanted to be safe rather than sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eatgreass/pseuds/Eatgreass
Summary: There was a lot they never told you about Briar Rose, and maybe some of it can be laid bare.
Kudos: 3





	Briar Rose's Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Tws for manipulation, sexual manipulation, underage rape.... this sounds a lot worse then it is, I promise, and I don't like... write that shit out graphically, it's just touched on. Still, if any of those are going to trigger you, don't read.

People don’t realize that there was a split second between the needle piercing her flesh and the ending of her life for Briar Rose. 

Then again, people don’t see her as a person, most of the time. 

What they don’t tell you is the words we know are ones that were so delicately placed in her mouth. What they don’t know is that the way she woke up was gruesome and terrible, and that she never got a chance of a say in it, only was told she should be grateful. 

What they don’t tell you is that to die on a spinning wheel is awful, you slump forwards, your foot releases pressure from the pedal where you so delicately spun the thread. They don’t tell you that the needle prick is only a precursor, because when you slump forwards, dead asleep, it bores a hole through that rose-red cheek. 

They don’t tell you that Briar Rose awoke with morning breath, gasping in pain, the same seventeen year old girl that she started as. They don’t tell you that her left cheek now has an irreversible scar from where the needle went up and cracked her bone. 

They don’t tell you that it wasn’t pretty, that it wasn’t  _ meant  _ to be pretty, that her bone cracked and left one side of her face in pure agony.

They don’t tell you (Although this, perhaps, they leave to assumption,) that someone dragged Briar Rose off of the spinning wheel, pulled her away from the thread that was engulfing her, and laid her out on a bed, so prettily, before they themselves died from the curse. 

You wouldn’t know that when the prince steps into the room where she lays, his feet crack a rib cage, the man that thought it more important to lay her out like a model then give himself the dignity of dying alone. 

How would you know that the rose clutched in her sleeping fingers had thorns boring into them? Evermore scars, peppering her body, the perfect little princess that never got a say.

You’d see, if you ever bothered to take in more than the hourglass under the sheets, that the rose was putrid, the one clenched in her hands. 

They didn’t tell you that the prince wasn’t valiant, that he was promised a wife, that he was more than angry when he woke her up and she was still seventeen. 

They don’t show you the tear tracks falling down her uneven face, they don’t give the satisfaction of showing you the real end, the blade piercing her gut. 

Oh Briar Rose, you slept for a hundred years, and waking up is just another kind of pain. 

The rose in her hand was a putrid kind of red, just like the scar on the side of her face, and the blood that dripped off her lips when he was finally fed up with you. 

Briar Rose, you were never going to get a happy ending, you were oh so mistaken on that count. 

He wanted a wife, the sad truth, that’s what they don’t tell you. That her life ended once, and she died asleep with a needle in her, and then he came to save her, and she wasn’t grateful, so she  died a second time, a sword in her gut, barely a chance to mourn. 

They don’t tell you the tragedy behind it, they don’t tell you that she never wanted to be rescued, they never tell you that she didn’t do anything wrong.

They don’t tell you a lot about what it’s like to wake up a hundred years later, still seventeen, still scared, because the world is still out to get you.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @king-of-a-walnut on tumblr, there, now I've done my usual plug-in.


End file.
